


Blackbirds

by cinderadler



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Arguing, Assassin's Creed: Syndicate, Bets & Wagers, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Business, Comfort, Confusion, Control, Curiosity, Danger, Fights, Finger Sucking, Games, Gift Giving, Guilty Pleasures, Hand Jobs, Last Kiss, Love Bites, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mind Games, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Pain, Restraints, Sad, Sarcasm, Slow Dancing, Theatre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-09 21:53:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5556824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderadler/pseuds/cinderadler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His smile was cruel but soft, the kind that accompanied teeth sinking into your skin.</p><p>“You know how to play, then, Jacob.”<br/>“I've played before.”</p><p>Roth made Jacob feel how Jacob made Roth feel: a perfect circle.<br/>“Above board is for art.” He caught Jacob’s earlobe between his teeth briefly.  “Business is dirty. Just don't get caught.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Compass Pointing South

**Author's Note:**

> I return, as if from the dead; inspired.
> 
> Hope you enjoy. Comment and keep me alive. Complain and keep me on my toes.
> 
> All my love x

They sat at a small table on the floor of the Alhambra. They stared at one another when one wasn't talking, openly trying to work the other out. Jacob wanted a gauge on Roth. Roth wanted to certify that Jacob was all the papers said he was.

“It's a dangerous life, this life of ours.” Roth interrupted the piano playing in the pit behind them. He spoke over the volume.

“Criminals?”

“Yes, if you'd like to call us that.” His accent was thicker than Jacob’s.

“I’m not a criminal though, Mr Roth.”                                                                         

“Oh, Maxwell, please, Jacob, my dear. And I don't know, _Jacob_ , I don't know about that. Some of my men would say otherwise.” He goaded him.

“I'd say I'm more of a lovable rogue: charming but with a moral compass.”

“Right you are, but a rogue nonetheless; with a compass pointed south.” His accent clung to ‘south’ like it was a musical note. He was toying with his food. Jacob was affronted by Roth’s candour. His playfulness was aggravating.

“I'm here on business, Mr Roth. In case that slipped your mind.” Roth paused before he spoke again.

“Of course.” Roth leaned in. “Where was I? You see, Mr Frye: I need a man like you to work for a man like me. I need a mind as sharp as mine to partner your considerable skill. We’re killers, am I right?”

“I want a deal.” Jacob interrupted Roth’s musing causing him to sit and watch him as he became comfortable again. “I need to get to Starrick and you, clearly, want him gone, or else you wouldn’t have let me in without a rope around my neck or something.” The older man smiled slowly, playing out the scene of Jacob’s description in his head.

“I think we have a deal. We seem to complete each other: create a perfect circle. I accept.”

“You intrigue me.” Jacob remarked, gaining Roth’s attention. They sat, facing one another, quite placidly. Their bodies didn’t convey their attraction to the other: like magnets they felt a pull toward the other which they instinctively rejected.

“I could say the same about you. Although I say fascinating, personally. Fascinating is a better word.”

“Not quite dark or handsome enough.”

“You toy with me, Jacob. Would you break this blackened heart?”

“By doing what exactly?” His sarcasm wasn’t entirely intended.

“By playing games.”

“I'm talking business here, Roth.” Jacob corrected himself and the situation.

“I'm talking business and more, my dear! Business and pleasure is a heady cocktail, Jacob, dear; perfect nightcap. Speaking of which: another drink?”

“It's five-thirty in the afternoon.”

“London is a world away from rules, Mr Frye; you should know that better than I.”  Roth grinned. “It’s almost evening. It’s already dark. And in this dark, would you care to dance?” He invited, extending his hand.

“No, thank you. I don't dance.”

“That's a shame. And maybe a lie, we’ll see.” He paused, looking the assassin in the eye. “I just want my chance to have a little fun with the bravest man in London.” Roth stood up, still holding his hand out inviting Jacob to take it. He waited for Jacob to twig before quietly urging him. “Stand up, my dear.” Jacob took his hand and got up from his chair.

“So, we have a deal?” Jacob searched for a reaction in Roth’s pale face.

“On a night like this? You could have anything. My darling, you're an elusive shadow only caught by the papers, the police and the poor, good, lowlifes of London and I'm none of those. Not quite.” He stopped, letting go of Jacob’s hand. “You know, it’s nights like this I forget about you. I watch the fires as they rage over London, tearing up the skyline with smoke and terror.” He goaded Jacob into reacting to his romanticism. Jacob’s curious expression became dark as he spoke.

“It's nights like this I think about you. I look up to the smoke and the fires, raging, and I wonder if you started this one.” Jacob turned on his heel and walked to the doors.

“We’re going to get along like a house on fire, my dear! You've got yourself a deal.” He called after him, turning his back to the stage. “Come back soon.”

-

He jumped from the nearest rooftop. The wind changed and pulled at his coat tails as he fell. He was used to it by now but anything more than a light breeze still took Jacob by surprise. He ran across the rooftops of the city to get to a park or a pub or anywhere not as constricting as the Alhambra. Jacob was making tracks, he’d made a deal with one of the worst men in London, but a man that he couldn’t help but be attracted to.

There was a strange, undeniable attraction to be had with Roth as a man who could have anything and yet he chose to work to get Jacob. The assassin liked a challenge, and having Roth on his side couldn’t help but improve his chances of getting at Starrick.

He was hypnotised by Roth’s charm, remembering Roth’s subtle touch as he washed his hands of the blood of the Blighters that threatened him outside of Covent Garden. Yet, Jacob had an inkling that he could grab Maxwell Roth by the collar and have him in the palm of his hand just as easily as he did his men.

With any restraint Jacob would have waited, but he returned to the Alhambra the next day, curious about the man who adored him. 

“I figured I’d come and play.” Jacob stood in front of Roth, his hands flat on Roth’s table.

“Play or play me?” Roth questioned, suspicious of Jacob’s temperament.

“A bit of both, I can’t lie to you.” Jacob flashed a grin at Roth who laughed as he lit a cigarette. He inhaled a mouthful of smoke before removing the cigarette from his lips to toy with it.

“You think you can play me like a violin, eh, darling?” The older man took the assassin’s hand and brought it up to his face, holding the lit cigarette above it with his other hand. Jacob didn’t flinch, but neither did Roth. “We’re in this for more than fun and games, remember that.” He planted a kiss on Jacob’s knuckles quickly before letting the hand drop and taking another drag from his cigarette.

“Board games, Max. I fancied a board game. Snakes and Ladders, maybe?”

“Oh, I’m bored of games, Jacob.” He leaned back in his chair, opening his arms out to express his tetchiness. He tapped the ash from the cigarette onto the floorboards. “I need something a little more exciting, Jacob-” He spat his name the second time. “-how about a bet?” Roth took the cigarette to his lips for one last breath before holding it out to Jacob between his index and middle finger. “What do you say? Out this on your tongue.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re done playing games, dear.” Roth smiled slowly, leaning forwards to stand, facing Jacob as he stood. “Come now, _gamble_.”

“What are the stakes?”

“ _Quickly_. You do this and I’ll get my boys and girls to ease off your Rooks, give you some room to move. Then I do something for you.” Jacob made eye contact with Maxwell again, searching for answers. He took the cigarette end, still burning, from Roth’s fingers and suddenly placed it upside down on his tongue. He opened his mouth and outed the cigarette without breaking eye contact from the older mad man, curious to see if this excited him. The burn on his tongue wasn’t severe but it stung.

“Now you do something for me, isn’t that it?” Jacob asked as he tried to soothe the scold on his tongue surreptitiously.

“Yes. I am in your hands. _Gamble_.” He taunted the cocky assassin.

“Light that whisky and drink it.”

“And?”

“and you can tie me up and have your way with me.” Roth’s grin was wide and lascivious but his eyes betrayed him. There was a passion in them that came with a love for starting fires: something destructive. “ _Have a little fun with the bravest man in London_.” Jacob was drawn in by Roth’s fierceness. He liked the challenge.

“and if I don’t? What then?”

“If you don’t, I get your pet crow.”

“Oh, Jacob! You do know how to raise the stakes.” His grin narrowed and grew more malevolent. “I love that pretty thing. But then I have a weakness for pretty things.” He reached out reactively to touch Jacob’s jaw, Jacob saw him move and flinched at his touch but didn’t hit him away. “You have a strong jaw.” He mused, almost to himself, as he let Jacob go. “You came of your own accord to play games, I respect that. I’ll make an actor of you yet. There’s theatrics in what you do. We’re not so different, you and I.” He adjusted his shirt collar. “We’re separated only by what we love and what we hate. What we do it all for.”

“Come, now, Max: _gamble_.”

“Before I do, let me ask you a question, you’re a smart man.” He reached for the book of matches from his inner jacket pocket. “If you love it you will kill it, if you hate it you will let it die. Or perhaps, it is that if you hate it you will kill it, if you love it you will let it die. Which is the truer of the two?” The older man poured himself and his business partner a drink. He pushed it over to Jacob and set it down in front of him on the table before he sat back down in the chair opposite the assassin. They were separated by a grand, ornate wooden desk, decorated with various paper and tools, and now two glasses of whisky. Jacob stayed standing, looking down upon Roth as he struck a match and gazed at it before it extinguished between his fingers. Jacob jumped across the desk with ease, leaning against the wood as he stood over Roth. “Regardless, I remember that there is no truth when it comes to love, only the things that we do together and then all the things we do and don't let one another see.” Roth smiled slowly, flashing his teeth as he sat still, waiting. He took the match to his glass of whisky and set it alight easily. His prey made him want to jump, he was chasing shadows in chasing Jacob Frye. He made him feel uneasy, like he was standing on the ledge of the roof of a tall building and leaning over the edge. Jacob pressed his boot into Maxwell’s chest to keep him there. He tipped him and threw off his weight when he levered his weight against the chair gently, tipping Roth along with it back into the corner of the room. Roth made Jacob feel how Jacob made Roth feel: a perfect circle.

“You push me, darling. Why?” Roth’s fascination with Jacob piqued. He held the burning liquor in his hand as he spoke.  

“Because I can.” Jacob’s reply was flat and certain. It was almost sincere.

They terrified each other as they lingered in the space between kissing and complacency. They could strangle each other as quickly as tease open their lips with a finger. Roth suddenly drew the glass to his lips and swallowed the burning whisky, pushing Jacob back from him slightly with his free hand as he did so.

“That's the way to do good business, Jacob, my dear! Push your opponent into your hands.” Roth grew excited as pushed the assassin backwards, climbing up from the angled chair. “I've just got one bit of advice for you-” Maxwell leant his mouth to Jacob’s right ear, becoming anxious of their dangerous stillness. “-There’s no time for good business if the deeds are dirty, darling. Above board is for art.” He caught Jacob’s earlobe between his teeth briefly.  “Business is dirty. Just don't get caught.”

Jacob guarded his waist instinctively when Roth went to touch it. He let the assassin then lead forwards and leave his office, calling after Jacob as he made to leave. “It's been a pleasure!” Jacob paused, catching himself but not turning around.

“It has, Mr Roth.”

 

-

Jacob opened his eyes slowly. His head felt heavy, like it had been underwater. The sedative was wearing off.

“I wanted to try something. I want to test you, my dear; indulge my theatrical side.”

“Roth...”

“’You can tie me up and have your way with me.’ Wasn’t that our wager? Here I am, making good on our bet.” The assassin’s legs and torso were restrained with rope and tied to the body of the chair itself. His wrists were tied apart from the chair but tied as securely as the rest. The ties crossed over, holding his body to the wooden frame but still allowing a little movement to get comfortable.

“Roth, you bastard.” His words were direct but slow as he regained his sense of being.

The assassin wriggled against the restraints securing him to the chair, trying to loosen them.

“What are you playing at, Roth?” Jacob growled, trying but to shout. “We had a deal!”

“One minute, _please_ ; we still do.” The actor levied, splaying his fingers in a gesture of peace. “I just wanted to show you who you're getting into bed with, as it were.” He turned away to yell. “Lewis! The lights!” As the house lights dimmed, a spot light point at the chair was turned on, darkening the rest of the room by contrast. Roth moved into Jacob’s eye line, looking at him with hunger. “Please, cut your ties free, but sit still, my dear. Just for a moment.” He adjusted his cuffs. “I'll lay out my ground rules. Nothing done under duress. Force maybe, but only light, I promise. I'm a bad man, darling, but so are you. That don't make it right, I know. But I play games to win.  I play fair but I play rough: no harm, no foul, no quarter.”

Jacob cut loose his arms in turn as the older man removed his jacket. Roth undid Jacob’s jacket and pulled at his shirt, untucking it.

“Maidens, fair, and princes, charming: which would you like to play?” He tried to play along.

“You know how to play, then, Jacob.”

“I've played before.” Jacob smiled slightly.

“I don't doubt it, a handsome young devil like yourself. Set hearts on fire I'm sure.”

“I know enough to know the way to a man’s heart. The fourth and fifth rib.” He was losing patience with Roth’s theatrics. This wasn’t what he’d expected Roth would do.

“I'll remember that.” Roth quipped. “You're my audience of one: London’s Most Wanted. Tonight, I'll play the prince, saving his darling damsel.”

“I don't have time for your theatrics, Roth.”

“Humour me, my dear. I just to play a little scene before we get down to business. I'm an actor, Jacob. Theatrics make life worth living.”He stood back from the assassin in his chair, glancing at the rope on the floor behind the chair. He noticed Jacob had cut his hands free. “Will you play, just for a minute? Time us by the clock, if you like. I like a challenge.”

“Hurry up. I’ll time you.”

“I won't keep you. Besides-” Jacob was a moth to Roth’s flame, holding him back for fear of temptation. “-suck it, and see. Acquire a taste.” Before he had finished speaking, Roth got down on his knees and had pulled Jacob’s shirt up, running his fingers along the inside of Jacob’s thigh briefly before growling. “You’re not getting my crow.” His voice hung low and heavy like smoke along Jacob’s skin. Roth looked up from between Jacob’s knees. He stuck out his tongue and dragged it across the twin’s exposed stomach. Jacob let out a groan, tensing involuntarily at the warm, wet pressure of Roth’s tongue. He placed chaste, bitten kisses along the assassin’s abdomen as he undid his shirt, ripping at the buttons he couldn’t undo.

Roth’s hand climbed to rest around Jacob’s throat, sizing it up quickly with a slight squeeze before running his fingers up the back of the other man’s neck.

The sly smile on Roth's lips grew as he rested his index and forefinger on Jacob’s chin.

“May I?” Roth asked, making eye contact.

“Yes.” Jacob agreed, seeing the fire in the man’s black eyes. His breathing increased and became uneven.

“Open wide, darling.” He whispered as he slipped his index finger past Jacob’s peachy lips.

Jacob sucked his finger lightly at first and then harder when Maxwell moaned against his skin. The older man slipped a second finger past Jacob’s lips as he continued to kiss Jacob’s neck, sucking the skin there until it bruised. Jacob moaned as he ran his tongue down Roth’s fingers, reacting to the love-bites lingering over the vein in his neck. As Roth moved down to his collarbones Jacob snapped and pulled Roth’s fingers from his mouth whilst sucking against them, breathing heavily as felt the other man’s hand loosely drag his saliva over his chest.

He reached down and grabbed Roth’s collar, pulling him up sharply. Roth instinctively straddled Jacob, winding his arms under the rope that still bound the assassin’s torso to the sturdy chair. He pressed a loose kiss to the actor’s jaw, before quickly his mouth down and bruising Roth’s throat lightly with his lips. He nipped at the darker bruises with his teeth and sucked gently at the lighter ones to even them out, all the while he worked his way down the buttons on Roth’s shirt. Roth moaned through his teeth, digging his fierce hands into Jacob’s coat. Jacob’s teeth grazed the throbbing vein in his neck as he made to move his mouth to Roth’s. The assassin simultaneously sunk his hand into Roth’s silver hair, letting his hair be pulled at the roots as Roth tugged Jacob’s mouth away from his, just as he was about to kiss him.

His smile was cruel but soft, the kind that accompanied teeth sinking into your skin. He climbed off Jacob’s body until he held the panting assassin at arm’s length listening to but not concentrating on the sounds of their heavy breathing slowing.

From this distance he traced his fingers across Jacob’s throat, making a throat slitting gesture. Jacob’s expression was calm but wanting, his panting had eased to become staggered, quieter breathing. He breathed through his mouth as he smiled widely.

“You’ll be the end of me.”

 

 

 


	2. The East Wind Takes Us All In The End.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Go on, I enjoy the spectacle.”  
> Roth punched Jacob in the stomach.
> 
> “Don’t finish without me.” He leaned closer and spoke against his hand pressed over Jacob’s mouth.  
> Roth heard Jacob’s breathing catch in his throat with a staggering moan and the tug of Jacob plunging his fingers into Roth’s hair and digging them into his skin.  
> “You wanted me weak at the knees.”
> 
> Jacob took it again in his own, raising it to his mouth and pressing a long, slow kiss to Roth’s knuckles with his split lip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is much longer, I guess I just got carried away. 
> 
> Please: comment and keep me alive, complain and keep me on my toes.  
> Let me know what you think.
> 
> All my love x
> 
> ♥

Jacob spent four days in his house thinking about it. He wanted to ask Evie about it but chose not to. He wanted to make use of Roth, in his trepidation and fascination; Jacob wanted more.

-

Roth had a thin red scarf around his neck hiding the bruises. He wore a dark brown suit and black shoes, and was standing on the stage when Jacob arrived.

“I like your scarf.” Jacob mocked, crossing to the stage slowly.

“I'm a man of business, my dear. Got to keep up appearances.”

“Red suits you.”

“Purple suits you. Or are they going black now?”

“They're purple.” He tapped his exposed throat. “I think it brings out my eyes.” He laughed for a small moment, trying to get Roth where he wanted him; comfortable and susceptible to his touch. He wanted a hang on Roth to give him a warm mouth to cry into on cold nights, and to get an upper hand on Starrick. Roth was his way in, but it was like feeling around in the dark trying to get a grip on Roth; reaching blindly into an abyss. Sometimes he'd get it right, other times he wouldn't. He couldn't play Roth quite like he thought he could. Roth tried to get Jacob where he wanted him and that scared Jacob, because all he’d have to do was ask nicely.

“You came back, good. I’ve missed your adventures.” Roth elaborated, stopping what he was doing and devoting his attention entirely to Jacob.

“I know you, Roth. I know what you want.”

“It wasn’t much of a puzzle, my dear.” Roth smiled, opening his arms to placate his sarcasm.

“I came to talk business. No fun and games.” Jacob sounded strict but wasn’t.

“As you wish, partner. What do you want to talk about?” He gestured with his hand for Jacob to join him on the stage. “Come on: not afraid of the lights now, are you? A star like you.”

“I want to renegotiate the terms. I’d like a cut of Blighters out of Covent Garden completely.”

“Oh, well, this is dirty business; putting my boys and girls out of work.”

“You can move them elsewhere.”

“But then you won’t want them there, I’m sure.”

“Not necessarily-”

“Oh, of course necessarily! But because I like you, I’ll think about it. Question is: what’re you going to do for me in return if I do? What are your terms of agreement?”

“I’ll leave the Alhambra alone unless absolutely necessary. We both get a bit of peace and quiet in a place we escape to.”

“I’ll think. I’ll leave it with Lewis.” Roth was intrigued by Jacob’s harsh negotiations after last time. Did he have a script for this? Had he run lines?

“Out of all your men, why Lewis as the housepet?” Jacob interrupted Roth’s train of thought with his nervous question.

“Turn and look at the back of the room. That’s why.” Lewis was pacing through the seats at the back of the auditorium noting sightlines for the stage. “Because he loves this as much as I do. Don’t worry, he’s no competition; it’s the theatre he loves, not me.” Roth moved closer to finish, paying Jacob his full attention again. “Still, he’s good to me. Loyal, like a dog, but good.” Maxwell explained quietly, tracing his fingers down the back of Jacob’s neck as he stood behind him. Upon feeling the younger man shiver, he ducked in and kissed his neck.

Reacting, Jacob grabbed Roth by the arm, pulling him into a corner, aside from Lewis’ field of vision. He let his hand linger on the older man’s upper arm as he drew the other up to between his shoulder blades. Roth reciprocated his touch by wrapping his arms around Jacob’s neck and lower back. They were pressed against each other in this dark, stifling corner of the theatre, wedged between two large pieces of flat scenery. Roth’s breath was hot against Jacob’s throat. Jacob leaned in to Maxwell’s right ear to whisper to him, aware of Lewis presence in the auditorium.

“I don’t want to cause a scene or disturb the peace and quiet, but I want you crying out my name.” He breathed as lightly as he could, trying to keep his voice hushed. “I want you weak at the knees.” He pressed a loose kiss to Roth’s cheek as he pulled away, sliding his hands

He felt Roth’s hand crawl across his waist like a spider, matching his vindictive smile. He dropped it to run along the inside of his thigh momentarily before dragging it cautiously up to his groin. He stroked Jacob’s bulge through his trousers. Jacob had trained his attention on Lewis searching the room, Roth took him by surprise. He let out a strange, slight gasp.

“How's about we put on a show? All in good taste, of course.” He began to pull them out of the corner they were pressed into.

“Give them something to look at, given all your lackeys do is look.”

“That's unkind, Jacob. They're simple beasts. And in need of entertainment.

“Centre stage?” The assassin tilted his head, aroused by the idea Roth presented.

“I crave an audience.” He confessed in a hushed tone, pulling Jacob's hair as he slipped his hand beneath the fabric of Jacob's trousers.

“But now?” Jacob queried, trying not to moan, sinking his teeth into his lower lip to stop it. He was more concerned about the matter at hand. “Tonight?”

“Why not now?” Roth’s mouth curled upwards. “Relieve a little tension, improve business negotiations?” He murmured, curling his fingers around the length of Jacob’s cock, pulling it free of the fabric.

Jacob’s head fell back into his shoulders as he let out a loud, pitchy moan.

“That’s some fierce negotiation, Mr Roth.” Jacob whispered into Maxwell’s ear. As the assassin spoke, he moved his fist faster along Jacob’s cock. Roth nipped at the younger man’s collarbones as he made suddenly longer, slower strokes. Jacob let out a breathy moan, trying to keep the noise down. He ran his fingers through Roth’s hair to distract himself.

“Make as much noise as you like. Lewis doesn’t mind, I pay him not to.” Roth murmured, running his tongue the length of Jacob’s bruised neck. When he touched the vein in Jacob’s neck, he drew in breath and cried out, moaning heavily through his teeth to temper himself. The sound of the assassin moaning in his ear made Roth make faster strokes, causing Jacob to buck his hips into Roth’s palm, moaning with every thrust. Roth couldn’t help but watch in pleasure. “You like that, don’t--”

 “Mr Roth!” A shout came from close by them, cutting Roth off. Roth snapped his head up and slowed down considerably as he returned to breathe against Jacob’s ear.

“Yes!” Jacob panted. Roth smirked at his reply,  maintaining a slow, steady rhythm with his wrist. Jacob’s jaw fell and he inhaled sharply, unable to draw the moan from his throat as Roth persisted.

"Fuck." Roth murmured, nipping at Jacob's earlobe before he pulled away.

“Keep going-slowly-” Jacob uttered. “-slow-” He panted. “-slowly-uhhh--” His breathing peaked and he groaned against Roth’s hand as is came up to cover his mouth.

“Mr Roth!” The call came again. It was Lewis, getting closer and more impatient by the sound of it.

Roth uncurled his fingers suddenly, moving his free hand up Jacob’s torso.

“Don’t finish without me.” He leaned closer and spoke against his hand pressed over Jacob’s mouth. He pulled his hand away to suck his fingertips.

“You bastard, I was so close.” Jacob panted, digging his fingers into Roth’s shoulders and the roots of his hair. Roth grinned quickly, before dragging the fingertips of his free hand from Jacob’s throat to his hipbone, paying care and attention to Jacob’s reactions.

“Mr Roth, you’ve got a meeting.” Lewis interrupted for the third time, arranging the last untucked chair at the table at the front of the stage. Roth sighed between heavy breaths and let his head fall against Jacob’s shoulder.

“Business is business, my dear. It calls.” Roth turned his head to speak to Jacob, pulling away from him to yell at Lewis. “Tell Starrick I’ll be late. Get my coat and carriage.” He stepped forward and got on his knees in front of the horny, vulnerable assassin. Roth heard Jacob’s breathing catch in his throat at the touch as he ran his tongue along the length of Jacob’s throbbing cock, catching the head between his sly lips and sucking Jacob to climax with a staggering moan and the tug of Jacob plunging his fingers into Roth’s hair and digging them into his skin.

Jacob tried to control his breathing as he watched Roth swallow and stand up, doing his shirt back up and running his hand through his hair. He got dressed as he was when he arrived, apart from his hair being far more dishevelled and his cheeks flushed.

“You wanted me weak at the knees.” Roth quipped, walking backwards away from Jacob. “Leave through the window in my office.” Jacob nodded, seeing his chance to finally get at Starrick. “Come back anytime.” Roth paced towards the stairs and out of the double doors leading to the front of the theatre.

-

Jacob climbed across the roof, having raced Roth’s carriage there, and snuck in through an open window. He had stayed hidden beside a bookcase until Roth wandered over to peruse some financial document by the light of the window. He noticed something move out of the corner of his eye, reaching out to grab it as he turned. He balled his hands up in the fabric of its outfit and he yanked them forwards into the pale London daylight.

“Jacob?”

“Roth-” Jacob caught himself before he uttered more. Roth thought twice and then spoke again, louder.

“Jacob Frye! Nice of you to join us.” Roth smirked as he stared at Jacob, mitigating by mouthing the word ‘games’ before he punched Jacob in the stomach. Winded, he was thrown off balance and, as a result, missed Roth’s neck when he went to press his hidden blade against it, instead catching the sleeve of his fine, burgundy jacket. Roth angrily wrapped his hands around the assassin’s throat and wrist, pulling him out from the shadows. Jacob resisted whilst trying not to ease into Roth’s touch. “Come quietly, won’t you?”

"The infernal Mr Frye, to what do we owe the pleasure?" Starrick looked right at him and, as was his way, looked right through him. Roth leaned into his ear as he struggled, pulling him across the room towards the Templar Grandmaster.

“Tired of not getting caught?” Roth whispered against the back of Jacob’s neck. He held a knife to his throat to keep him still. “You’ve slipped, it seems. A bit clumsy for the bravest man in London, wouldn’t you say? But you’re here now.” Roth interjected, dragging Jacob to one of the chairs facing Starrick’s desk. Maxwell looked up at Starrick without lifting his head, glaring as he had a habit of doing but with faked caution. Roth was a better actor than Jacob thought.

“Just a bit of fun and games, you fucking murderer.” The assassin hissed. Starrick’s eyes were small and pale, staring into Jacob’s heart.

“Jacob, my dear, ease it in.” Roth hissed in Jacob’s ear as he restrained him, pressing the knife flat against his throat for show.

“How emotional. I appreciate that you’re a man of rules, Jacob, but I can’t appreciate you in the way Maxwell can.” Starrick’s voice was sharper that Roth’s. It was clearer and more caustic, but emotionless deep down. Starrick looked Roth in the eye with a smile before he sat back down in his chair, opening the ledger in front of him. “Hit him again.” He turned the pages until they became blank. “Humiliate him, Roth. Why don’t you kiss him, you're his biggest fan! Savour this moment before you beat him to a pulp.” Starrick’s eyes were dead. “Go on, I enjoy the spectacle.” He urged, looking from Maxwell to Jacob with a cold stare and a flat, vacant smile. Roth looked from Jacob to Starrick and then back to Jacob, choosing not to think about why Starrick was doing this and to play the part like the actor he was. He moved the knife away from the assassin’s throat but simultaneously moved his other hand up from Jacob’s restrained wrist to his throat, keeping him still. He flipped the knife in his hand so that he pressed the handle and not the blade into Jacob’s throat, using both hands to both pull him up and hold him down.

Roth leaned in, unflinching, and kissed Jacob on the lips viciously. There was no feeling in it: he didn’t even close his eyes. Starrick watched as Jacob winced under Roth, acting up the kiss to fool Starrick into thinking him so easily beaten. He stared at them both as Roth pushed his tongue into Jacob’s mouth, trying to make it mean something. He slowed down and made the pressure of his lips on Jacob’s more deliberate, closing his eyes to urge Jacob to do the same. He did and kissed back, fighting with Roth for effect. Roth pulled away suddenly, breathing heavily as he addressed Starrick of his own accord.

“Can’t I just throw him from the window and be done with him? I’ve changed my mind about pretty things. They damage too easily.” He turned the knife back around in his hand and restrained the assassin again. Roth was trying to buy Jacob an escape without having to fight for it.

“You’re lying, Roth. It’s in your eyes. You know I wouldn’t do this if it didn’t go a way to pulling out this thorn from my side.” He looked at Jacob then and spoke to him over Roth. “I don’t fight dirty by choice, Jacob, but I will fight dirty to win.” Starrick got up from behind the desk and came around to stand in front of them both. “I want you beaten down and broken _completely_ , Mr Frye. You and your sister. London is my city of light, a Templar city. Maxwell and his Blighters own the streets and I own the rooftops.” He seized Jacob’s wrist and gripped it. “Kill him. But put on a good show.”

Roth punched Jacob in the stomach again. It persuaded Starrick to return to his desk and observe from his safe distance. Jacob, in return, grabbed onto Roth’s shoulder and pulled him to one side, punching him in the throat and in the side of the head as he recoiled downwards.

“What did you hope to achieve from this, Jacob?” Roth drew his head up to Jacob’s as he grappled him, muttering into his ear. He pulled his foot back through Jacob’s and knocked him off balance, allowing him to land a punch in the ribcage. Jacob groaned at the impact

“I don’t know. I saw my chance to get Starrick and I took it.” He swung at Roth’s head, landing a punch directly on his eye, splitting the skin under his eye.

“Without thinking?” He hissed again. “Either I kill you or you kill me, darling. And I don’t fancy my odds, you’ve got years on me.” Roth tried not to whisper this time because he meant it but couldn’t risk Starrick hearing. Jacob released his hidden blade and tried to jab it into Roth’s arm to incapacitate him. Roth dodged Jacob’s attempts, but leaned too far the wrong way and Jacob grazed the scar on his cheek.

In pain, Roth lashed out and clipped Jacob across the head at the wrong angle, knocking him back towards the window, and splitting his lip open. He reached out, determined to finish Starrick’s voyeurism prematurely, and tugged Jacob by the collar towards himself. The blood coursing from his lip stained his clothes and dripped onto Roth’s sleeve.

“Do what you do best.” Roth whispered as grabbed Jacob’s throat with one hand. Jacob saw the real threat at Roth’s hands and grasped onto his wrist with both of his hands, trying to prise him off. “Covent Garden. Slink into a corner.” Roth lifted him up enough to lean him over the edge of the window frame, leaning him backwards. Jacob was too forceful in fighting before Roth freed him and twisted it the wrong way until the clicked. Roth recoiled in pain, yelling at Jacob as he pushed him backwards out of the window, hoping he’d land on something that wouldn’t break any bones.

And that was Jacob Frye, as far as Starrick was concerned. If he wasn’t dead from the fall, he was certainly badly injured.

Roth had judged it right. He’d pushed Jacob out onto a carriage top, his own to be precise. He couldn’t have known, but he had hoped; and for a man like Roth that was something terrible.

-

Exhausted and stinging, Jacob sat in Covent Gardens and tried to think about what had just happened to him, and what he had just done. He sat until his ribs ached from the cold and felt nothing but confusion and uselessness. He walked back to a place he considered safe to heal his wounds and get some rest. Wearily, Jacob pushed the door open and was hit by a feeling of emptiness. The room was cold, Evie wasn’t home and hadn’t been for some time judging by the temperature. Jacob shut his eyes and touched his sore lip gingerly. The cut on his throat ached and his bleeding knuckles stung. His head throbbed, and he had opened the door to this.

It didn’t bother him usually, but today he felt the cold. It pricked at his skin. It wrapped around him as he sighed and closed the door again. He shut the door behind himself as he walked away.

A Blighter collared him leaving the Strand, yanking him to the ground as he pulled him forwards. He scraped his knees on the uneven stones, looking up at his assailant with anger.

“Rough day, little fish?” He took his chance and swung at Jacob’s head, smacking him in the mouth.

“Rough day screwing your boss- _sorry_ -your old man.” Jacob’s eyes were black and his mouth was red going into this brawl. He smirked at the red-jacketed brute and his partner as she kicked him in the stomach. Jacob retaliated, grabbing her leg when she tried it again, slamming his hand into the back of her knee then forcing his weight on the front of it to fracture the bone as he swept up, knocking the knife strapped to her leg out of its holster as she tripped. She cried out as she fell to the floor, struggling to reach the discarded knife from where she lay. Jacob dragged his foot beneath him, drawing it up and kicking the male Blighter in the ankle. He lost his balance and stumbled backwards, giving the assassin time to dance behind him and get hold of his flailing arms. He dug his fingers between the thug’s fingers on one hand and bent them backwards, breaking the middle and index finger with a scream. Then swiftly gripping his other arm and twisting it behind his back, turning it grotesquely and sharply until his wrist broke. Without thinking, he dropped the dead weight of his opponent, stepping back from his work for a moment. The woman shouted a slur at him, compensating for the searing pain in her leg as she dragged her body across the ground to reach her knife. He looked down at her with a passive calmness that took over his body, something that compensated for his wounds, and moved towards her slowly. He stood over her as she hissed at him and clawed for the knife, noticing as she caught it in her fingers and grasped it how she brought it up towards his ankle. He reacted, feeling the cold night air down the back of his sweating neck, standing on her wrist with enough force to make her drop the blade. He listened for the snap that told him to stop, and stumbled away from her shouting. “Give him my love.” The youngest Frye twin muttered without looking back at the rival gang members lying on the street. He just carried on with his walk.

London was quiet that night, peaceful for a change. He looked up at the sky once or twice for smoke to make him change his mind but found none and, so, carried on. He walked slowly but decidedly through the streets until he saw the glow of the lights.

He climbed the outside wall with bleeding hands and bleeding knees. The assassin was weak when he crawled through the French window into Roth’s office. Roth wasn’t startled by his intruder, or if he was he didn’t show it. Jacob caught his breathe as he glanced at Roth’s injuries.

“Please come with me.” His voice was tired and almost emotionless. Jacob looked Roth in the eyes and Roth saw this star fall as he observed Jacob standing before him. The assassin stretched out his hand in invitation as Roth had done a week ago when he offered him to dance.

“Alright, my darling.” Roth’s voice was calm and tempered, almost gentle, as he stood up with ease and took his hand. He walked with Jacob out to the hall and down the stairs, tentatively holding his hand until he had crossed the auditorium and the stage and reached the nearest dressing room backstage. It was almost too dark to see until Jacob dropped his hand to light the lamp in the corner of the room, and even then it still cast shadows over the floor and onto the cheap, stained bed.

Jacob took it again in his own, raising it to his mouth and pressing a long, slow kiss to Roth’s knuckles with his split lip. There were smears of blood on Roth’s hand that smudged onto Jacob’s as he silently followed the assassin’s lead and wound their fingers together.

“I’ve got you.” He said, moving carefully, treating the wounded assassin like he did his crow. His hands were gentle and his eyes were sincere.  He lost his spite at the sight of Jacob weak; it forced him to confront his humanity, and the man that reminded him of that, damaged.  Jacob looked up at Roth before he walked them both back to the bed. He snaked his free arm loosely up to hang around the back of Roth’s neck, running his thumb across his throat softly. Roth used the fingers of his free hand to touch Jacob’s swollen and split lower lip, all thick and the colour of a cheap red wine. “Darling-”

Jacob interrupted Roth by sitting him down on the bed, standing between his knees, letting Roth adjust his free arm to fall around his waist. Jacob slipped the hand that was around his neck to the lapels of his jacket, beginning to slide it off Roth’s slim shoulders. Maxwell pulled their fingers apart but chose not to interfere with Jacob taking his jacket off. The slow, staggered movements the assassin was making were hard to watch but Roth did, taking in the tension of the muscles in Jacob’s neck when he turned his head and how they exacerbated the love bites. Distracted, the older man pulled his hands out of the sleeves and put the jacket at the top of the bed, away from them both.

“Lie down.” Jacob told him as he tugged his coat off by the sleeve cuffs. He allowed the older man to help, yearning for his touch, letting his hand run across his chest to his shoulders to slide it off without catching. Jacob let his coat drop. Roth then complied, lying down on the bed, curious but concerned about the lethargic assassin.

Jacob caught Roth’s eye as he snapped out of a thought, smiling softly before mouthing the words ‘thank you’ and climbing onto the bed with him. He crawled into Roth’s arms; leaning his back against Roth’s strong chest, letting their legs tangle together, feeling the heat of Roth’s body emanate through his.

Maxwell smiled into Jacob’s hair, kissing his scalp as a gesture of safety.

“I’ve got you, darling.” He whispered to him as he dug his fingers between Jacob’s, feeling his heart thump in his chest. Jacob closed his eyes, collapsing into Roth’s arms completely. Roth reached over to his jacket, trying not to move, and pulled it across to drape over Jacob’s stomach. He stared into the dim light for a while, breathing steadily, wondering how broken Jacob could have been to come here for this. He felt Jacob’s chest rise and fall beneath his hand, paying attention to that instead.

“I know you’re listening.” Jacob sleepily murmured into the calm silence. He clenched his fingers tighter to Roth for a second. Roth’s quiet laugh rippled through his chest, Jacob could feel it against his back as he feel asleep in the warmth and comfort of the entrapment of one of the worst men in London. Roth concentrated on holding Jacob so close to him for a minute or two before lulling off, cradling the injured assassin swathed in his jacket.

-

His lip had stopped bleeding when he woke up. He was coaxed awake by slow, longing kisses on his neck; marks of adoration. Their hands had come loose in their sleep but were still near each other.

They were intent on breaking the other to control one for their own fun and games. By sordid, honest love or by brass knuckles, fires and death: Jacob and Roth were dangerous lovers but were not entirely in love. _Not quite_.

Roth continued his trail of deep kisses up Jacob’s neck and jaw and towards his lips. Jacob elicited small moans and searched behind himself with his hand to draw it into Roth's hair. He turned himself over and leant up on his elbows, trying to kiss Roth but resulted in sucking his lower lip instead because he moved. He saw Jacob go to try and moved purposefully.

“I’ve got something that’ll make you feel better.” Roth grinned suggestively.

“I feel alright, it’s just a few cuts and bruises.” Jacob defended, dropping his head back into Roth’s hand.

“And a cherry split lip, bloody knuckles, and bleeding knees to name a few. You’re the picture of good health.”

“So I’m a bit beaten up. I was feeling sorry for myself-”

“No apology necessary! You tore open your knuckles giving me a black eye and an awful headache, I sprained my wrist splitting your lip, bruising your ribs, and throwing you out of a window. We kissed and made up.” Roth’s eyes were calm for a moment, before they dilated in anger. “I didn’t want to hurt you, my dear. It was Starrick. We had to put on a show. He’s a perverted prick. He makes me sick that I ever got into bed with him, as it were.”

“We’re not very good for each other. We play dangerous games.”

“All in good taste, Jacob, darling.” He flashed Jacob a grin. “Speaking of which, I have one in mind to ease our pain. Something delicate." He stroked his hand through Jacob's hair. "Mutual masturbation. Getting our hands a little dirty together. There's nothing like a bit if teamwork."

“With a distracted audience though? Can I make a suggestion, I’ll humour you.”

“ _Gamble_.” He encouraged him.

“Blindfolded. A performance for one. One watches while the other controls the show.” Jacob was excited by his own suggestion.

“Some light influence. A gentle nudge in the right direction.” Roth hummed. “Jacob, my dear, you’re know how to make a man weak.” He removed the red cravat, the one he had worn the previous day as a scarf, from his breast pocket, tossing his jacket back onto the bed. “May I?” He spoke playfully, showing Jacob the material before he offered.

“You go first.” Jacob suggested.

“Try me.” The older man smirked, accepting the blindfold wilfully. As soon as he’d tied it, Jacob placed a kiss on the side of Maxwell’s neck.

“One for the road.” He commented, leaning back against the end of the bed, looking over at Roth. “I want you to think of me-kissing your neck.” Jacob instructed and Roth took hold of his erection, moving his fist up and down it, slowly at first. “I’m going slowly. Sucking your skin between my teeth. My fingers touch your chest. I put my finger in my mouth and then I put it in yours. You’re sucking it, slowly at first, then harder-and faster-” Roth quickened his pace, beginning to moan at the feeling. Jacob’s breath began to shake as he found it hard not to get aroused by his fantasy. “I kiss your collarbones and your chest; running my tongue across your nipple, pinching it between my teeth, sucking it gently. I slide my hand down and touch your cock-running-” He paused to watch Roth arch his back in pleasure, moaning at the thought, he slowed down to keep pace. He struggled to keep his hands down. “-running my hand down its length. I curl my fingers around it and slide my hand slowly to the tip. I pull my finger out of your mouth and I rub your saliva on the head, before-” Roth’s groan was guttural and from the back of his throat. He brought his other hand up to play his nipple at the same time, pinching it until it was erect. “I close my mouth over the head and move it down, tasting you. I keep going, moving faster, then slowly; prolonging the pleasure. You’re so hard for me.” Roth’s moaning became explicit and beautiful. His breathing tore at his throat as Jacob’s became heightened and he moaned lightly, watching the way he'd affected Roth.

“Jacob-” Roth moaned, hard.

“I suck harder and slower. I stop. I suck fast and hard-”

“Ja-jacob-aahhh-” Roth came into his hand with a cry. He was out of breath, begging for a release.  The assassin was heavily aroused and dying to put on the blindfold but forced himself to wait and take in what he’d made of Roth.

Roth wiped his hand on his stomach and teased off the blindfold, looking straight at Jacob.

“My darling, what a show.”


	3. Further South, Into the Fire.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Without music, their murderous duet commenced. Jacob placed his hand on Roth’s waist and tangled the fingers of his other hand with those of Roth’s outstretched hand. 
> 
> “Open your eyes.” Jacob commanded, and Roth did.
> 
> He instinctively placed his hands behind Roth’s head and lower back, guiding him to the ground as he had done when they’d waltzed. He couldn’t hide from it as it stained his shoes and his hands and his mouth.  
> “You’ve got your tongue down the throat of that toe rag.”
> 
> As he walked away in silence; stripped to the waist, naked and shameless, the silence sank them both into the pits of their stomach.
> 
> “I don't like surprises.”  
> “Surprise is the spice of life! Call it a Valentine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooooooooooh, there's more. 
> 
> As always, comments give me life, or complain and keep me on my toes.
> 
> ❤️  
> Love

He heard the sound of scuffling feet and cut off breathing from outside. Shouting followed and then the recognisable thud of a body being thrown to the floor. He cooed at his crow, soothing him as he became agitated and nervous at the sound of fighting. It fell quiet as Roth thought it would. Stepping away from the birdcage, he went back to his desk as he listened to the feet treading the boards towards his office.  
Starrick walked in with heavy steps, clicking his heels to the wood neatly. Roth looked up at him from his work, staring with sharp, dark eyes.  
“Mr Starrick, a pleasure!”  
“Don't play games with me, Maxwell. I'm here because I know what you did. You put on a good show, I'll give you that but this is your last performance. I don't deal with men like you: you're not loyal to the cause.”  
“Men like me, Crawford?” He considered his generalisation to be a personal attack. He remained seated but opened his arms out as wide as they “I'll take you in my arms with a knife in each hand, one for the front and one for the back. You knew that when you employed me.” Roth flashed his teeth with a quick, devilish smirk.  
“You're nothing more than a cheap, flash crook with friends. And you're sleeping with the man who is trying to kill me. You’ve got your tongue down the throat of that toe rag, and unless you plan on choking him with it I suggest you shoot yourself before I come back.”  
“You know my answer, Crawford. Give me a week, get all my affairs in order.  
“An apt choice of words. But I’ll grant you that, I’m a businessman. However-” He clicked his fingers and then curled his finger towards himself, gesturing that his men come in. “-I’m sure you won’t mind me taking something as reparation for your insulting me so rudely.” Starrick’s men pulled in a bruised and tied Lewis, his young face showed his pain. Pretty things were so fragile in heavy hands.  
Starrick himself then forced Lewis towards the far side of the room and to the open window. Roth twitched to grab the gun but ceased, closing his lips into a flat line as he caught the boy’s eye. He had to let nature take its own course: big animals eat smaller animals. He was sorry but would never apologise, because that was the nature of bad business. Dog ate dog, and everything else was just collateral damage.  
“Can’t I just throw him from the window and be done with him?” As simple as that, Starrick threw Lewis from the third floor window to the earth. Roth swallowed the lump in his throat as sat there, thinking about Jacob’s disappointment that he didn’t kill Starrick when he had the chance. Roth moved the hand that had reached for the gun to the inside of his thigh and rested it there, a weight to keep him still. A weight that reminded him of Jacob.  
Starrick left as unceremoniously as he had arrived, shutting the door to Roth’s office behind him; leaving the actor in the knowledge that he had a week left alive.  
-  
Jacob spent the first day, unknowingly, tracking down Abberline to enumerate about any new leads on Starrick’s henchmen. Abberline, as usual, was closer to clueless than anything else but Jacob trusted him because he knew he'd be able to tell if Freddy was lying from a mile off.  
On the second day of the seven, Roth was sick of the peace that the first day had afforded him and he turned up at Jacob’s door to find him. He knocked and Jacob was there, answering the door as he would to anyone, unaware of who was on the other side. He jumped slightly when he saw that it was Roth.  
“I've come to alleviate your boredom.”  
“A pleasure, Mr Roth.” Jacob smiled slowly, winking at him as he closed the door behind himself.  
“Get in, won't you?” Jacob followed Roth as he climbed into his carriage, noticing as he did that Lewis wasn't driving.  
“Where's Lewis?” The younger man asked and Maxwell ignored him.  
“I want to play a game with you. Something clean, just this once; I want to see you think.” Roth neglected Jacob’s question with his suggestion, slipping his hand to rest on Jacob’s inner thigh.  
“Alright, I'm game.” Jacob said as he turned his head to his right and kissed Roth’s throat cleanly but with longing. “ Chess, I'm assuming?”  
Roth got distracted by the ministrations of Jacob’s tongue and teeth at his neck and collarbones to answer his question. He drew his hands by the fingers along the inside of Jacob’s leg making him fidget and moan against his throat with an open mouth. They arrived just outside the Alhambra half-aroused and half-aware that they would have to walk down the half street to the foyer doors of the theatre like nothing had happened. The short walk cooled their heels considerably as they felt eyes in them, most people recognising Jacob from the papers. They reached the foot of the stage and smiled curiously at each other, content in the state they were in as Roth climbed onto the stage.  
“To answer your question, my dear darling, no. Nothing so banal. Improvise. Acting.” Roth grinned, basking in the faint glow of the footlights. “I want heartbreaking, Jacob, my darling. I want to be torn apart: that’s what the theatre is for!” Roth extended his hand, showing Jacob the table to stand on to elevate him. Jacob obliged and replied after he’d found his balance, standing on such a surface.  
“This’ll help take down Starrick, you think? Acting.”  
“No, dear, not at all. He wouldn’t fall for it twice. But it amuses me and I’ll help you sink a knife into that fucker’s throat. I’ll put him down like a sick dog myself for what he did to you. That pretty face. I’ve got no loyalty to men who abuse pretty things.” Roth’s tone became serious despite his smile growing. He clapped his hands as if to restart a scene and climbed up from his chair to stand on the table. “Now, come on, gamble with me Break my heart!”  
“You make my skin crawl. That heartbreaking enough for you? You repulse me, you make me sick.”  
“Fight back, my dear.”  
“Against what?”  
“Against my disappointment. That was predictable.”  
“What if I wasn’t acting?”  
“I trust that you were. You’re not a good liar.”  
“Would I lie to you?” The subtle smile made Roth think twice about what Jacob was saying : was he telling the truth?  
“Someone as near and dear to me as you? Never. Unless-” His words were carefully chosen.  
“-Honeytrap.” Jacob cut him off. “I’m getting better, aren’t I?” Roth stopped and took in his calm but impressed expression and the spark in his eyes.  
“You are.”  
“Suckerpunches are a speciality.”  
“Show me sometime.” He winked at the assassin as he pulled his gloves off with his teeth, carefully. He ambled across the stage, carrying his gloves and a gun. “You never fail to surprise me, my dear.”  
Jacob watched Roth walk to the back of the stage, leaving as easily and as calmly as that, knowing that Jacob would let himself out. Jacob almost let him until the caught himself shouting across the stage at the footsteps he heard receding.  
“Max, dance with me.” He called out suddenly, speaking before he had registered he had opened his mouth. It was instinct and desire talking and his body froze because of it.  
“I beg your pardon, my dear?” Roth’s eyes were inquisitive but his lips were flat as he walked back to the centre of the back of the stage, his mouth curling into a slight smile only when Jacob laughed breathily in a panic. He was flustered, watching Roth cock the revolver out of habit.  
“Would you dance with me?”  
“I thought you didn’t dance.” Roth turned around completely.  
“Because I’ve never found a good partner.” He made his way towards Jacob easily.  
“I stand corrected. I knew it was a lie.” He murmured to the assassin, tucking the lip of the gloves under his waistband. “It’d be my pleasure.” He extended his hand as an offer to walk Jacob down from the table. Jacob accepted it and stepped down onto a chair and then the boards of the stage, removing his hand from Roth’s to adjust his shirt. Roth’s empty hand wedged the gun under the waistband of his trousers as well, but nestled against his spine unlike the gloves.  
“A waltz?” Roth asked, holding out his right arm with an open palm.  
“How romantic, I know.” Jacob said, looking Roth in the eye with a smirk. Roth nurtured a small smile at Jacob’s touching brokenness. His bravado was useless to a man like Roth except as a spectacle. The man was an actor, what was bravado if not a mask in the theatre?  
Without music, their murderous duet commenced. Jacob placed his hand on Roth’s waist and tangled the fingers of his other hand with those of Roth’s outstretched hand. Maxwell draped his other arm around Jacob’s shoulders, looking up at Jacob through his lashes as Jacob began.  
“I like it when you take control.” Roth spoke, his mouth a hair’s breadth from Jacob’s. They could feel each other’s breath on their lips. Jacob smiled reactively at Roth and slid the hand at his waist along to the base of his back, drawing him in even closer. They danced slowly at first, cautiously almost; as if they were remembering the steps and didn’t want to tread on the other’s toes. Picking up the pace gradually, Roth moved his hand to cradle Jacob’s neck, prompting him to turn his head away from the lights above them and look down at him. They kept their breathing steady and concentrated on the steps but Roth had done this a hundred times before and spent his time encouraging Jacob to relax and let his weight fall against him to even the pair out. Jacob could have grabbed Roth’s gun at any moment and shot him at any moment just as Roth could have snapped Jacob’s neck if he’d wanted to, but they didn’t. They eased into the steps and began to traverse the stage with ease, letting their minds focus on the other slowly. Their fingers wound tighter in the other’s as they looked deep into their partner’s eyes and lost themselves in the mystery for a moment, moving by instinct then. Jacob pressed the palm at Roth’s lower back against his skin, pushing him closer again, Roth smirked at the contact, letting his lips fall apart a little. Roth’s fingers idly climbed Jacob’s neck, sinking into the base of his hair but then resting his palm flat on Jacob’s spinal column, encouraging him to make a move. The assassin let his back foot drag across the boards and held his palm steadily as he let Roth fall back, lowering Maxwell towards the floor, feeling his back curve backwards against his hold, ending their dance.  
Jacob leant his head down ever so slightly as Roth angled his upwards to meet their mouths. Their breathing was slow but heavy as they almost brought their lips together, closing their eyes, taken in the romance of the pose they hung in. Jacob flinched as his mouth came to touch Roth’s, angling his head to the right before moving his outstretched hand to cradle Roth’s head, pulled their heads together with one smooth movement. Jacob’s lips parted in anticipation to catch Roth’s with own as a gunshot startled them apart.  
Jacob almost dropped Roth as his eyes snapped open and his reaction to duck took over him. Roth jumped at the closeness of the sound, digging his fingers into Jacob automatically. Their movement combined caused them to fall over; resulting in Roth lying on top of Jacob, their arms wrapped around each other. The gun had fallen from where it was pressed against Roth’s back when Jacob tipped him backwards and had hit the floor sharply enough to knock it into firing.  
Roth and Jacob were caught in a peculiar moment of adrenaline and curiosity as they laughed through the mild shock. Jacob’s ran his hand up to Roth’s head, lacing it through his hair, as Roth crawled on top of him but moved his knees to either side of the assassin’s waist to balance his body. Roth touched the scar on Jacob’s eyebrow and then traced his fingers to his lower lip, touching the cut gently.  
In this strange elation they caught each other’s eyes and felt whole for a brief moment, seeing something in the other they hadn’t seen before. One saw the bird, the other saw the cage; and they trapped each other, softly.  
Jacob pulled Roth’s mouth down onto his, crushing their lips together with light force. He parted his lips and widened his mouth against Roth’s, savouring this natural kiss and the pressure of Roth’s lips on his. Maxwell angled his head to one side, deepening the kiss as he sunk his hand into Jacob’s black hair. They kissed lazily, making slow and deep movements with their lips; devouring the other. Jacob fell into it, moaning gently into Roth’s mouth when he tugged his hair. He pulled Roth down harder onto him, wanting to make him moan, using his leg to ease Roth’s body down onto his. This allowed Jacob to wrap his legs around Roth’s waist and roll them over as they kissed feverishly. With the room to move, the assassin rolled his hips against the older man’s, groaning as he heard Roth moaning for him.  
He rolled his hips again but eased back this time, deciding that he wanted nothing more than this for a moment. Roth slowed down, giving him a chance to catch Jacob’s lower lip in his teeth, letting him suck it and release it, to Jacob’s pleasure.  
His smile was reactive as he leant in to kiss Roth again. He eased off this time, pressing lighter kisses to Roth’s slightly swollen lips. Roth pressed a lingering kiss, just as lightly, when Jacob drew his head back and looked into his eyes for answers. They waited in the silence of the Alhambra for a few minutes, captivated by the sound of the other breathing as the adrenaline wore off.  
Out of breath, he climbed off him, extending his hand for Roth to pull him up.  
“Not bad, Roth.” Jacob commented playfully.  
“Not bad yourself, rookie.” Roth remarked, pulling the gloves out from where they hung. “You’re better than I thought.” He made his way towards the dropped gun a few feet across the stage.  
“You sly devil, you bit my lip and made it bleed.” Jacob noticing, touching his lips with the back of his hand.  
“Surprise is the spice of life, dear.”

-

Just over half of Roth’s last week had passed when Jacob appeared at his window like a prowling cat ready to pounce. There was excitement in his eyes as he saw Roth tending to his bird.  
“Come with me. I want to try something.” Jacob offered, pulling himself up over the ledge at the window. He saw Roth admiring his pet crow, it sat in its cage on Roth’s desk, Roth crouching down in front of it.  
“I could always come to you, my darling.” Roth was startled by Jacob’s sudden appearance. Roth joked, watching the assassin saunter through his office having climbed in through the windows. He moved the birdcage steadily back to the hooked stand in the far corner. “Why?”  
“Why not?” Jacob retorted, smiling, and walking straight out of Roth’s office. He walked down the stairs and Roth followed, curious as to what Jacob could want. He followed him as he crossed the stage and cut between the wings to walk backstage, then up the far side staircase. Jacob whistled as he climbed the ladder besides the exit of the stairs, stopping to turn and offer Maxwell a hand up. Jacob hadn't noticed that the set had changed until he looked down at it from the ceiling. They were standing in the theatre gantries, thirty foot above the floor of the stage.  
“The gantries, my dear?”  
“The roof.” Jacob pointed to the latched opening in the roof above the far end of catwalk to Roth’s right.  
“There's nothing to stand on out there, it's only good for letting in the rain and optimistic escape in case of fires.”  
“Then the gantries will do. Not quite what I had in mind-”  
“What for? I'm intrigued.”  
“For making you cry. I want to hear you.”  
“Jacob, my dear, you’re a tease. I’m all yours.” Roth stood with his arms spread apart, a gesture of openness. “Don’t go too hard on me now, these catwalks'll move, they're not very stable.”  
“I’ll keep you as still as I can.” Jacob’s words were a promise as he closed in on the older man, catching his hands by his sides, pinning him to the wall. He exhaled against Roth’s jaw, nipping it with his teeth, to which he heard Roth almost laugh. Jacob closed his eyes then, snaking his hand along the inside of Roth’s forearm until he caught his fingers, knotting their fingers effortlessly.  
“Close your eyes.” He murmured against Roth’s skin, sinking his teeth into Roth’s throat. Roth did as he was told, running his hand through the assassin’s hair, moaning softly at the sharp but hot contact of Jacob’s mouth on his skin.  
He lifted Roth’s arms above his head with ease, kissing his neck sensually as he caught both wrists between the fingers of one hand, allowing him to slide his other hand down Roth’s shirt. He began fiddling with the buttons but struggled without looking, growling into a kiss as he tore Roth’s shirt open. The light sound of tinkling buttons tapping the gantry beams distracted him all of a sudden, as they fell with the breathy, open-mouthed moan Roth elicited.  
Licking a straight line up the older man’s throat, Jacob let go of his hands but they stayed there for a moment as Roth held them up, in a fever Jacob caressed his throat with both hands. Roth pulled Jacob’s weight forward with his foot, wrapping his leg around Jacob’s and tugging him forward, feeling the pressure of Jacob’s bulge pressing against his own. Jacob gasped at the pressure as he traced his hands down Roth’s muscled torso.  
Roth, in return, dug one hand into Jacob’s hair and slid the other down to cup Jacob’s buttocks. Jacob smirked lasciviously as he kissed his way down Roth’s chest. Surrendering one hand to hang around Roth’s neck to keep him steady on the narrow gantries, Jacob let the other fall down to Roth’s chest and pinch his nipples as he continued to kiss him. As he moved down Roth’s body, he left a trail of deep kisses and teeth marks from Roth’s collar to his belly button. Jacob pulled both of his hands down to undo Roth’s trousers when Roth hooked one of his hands around Jacob’s suddenly, catching it as it brushed down his chest. He pushed it down the waistband of his trousers as the assassin skilfully undid them with one hand, moaning at the touch of him guiding Jacob’s hand to his throbbing, erect cock.  
He stroked it tenuously, guiding Jacob’s hand comfortably as he felt the assassin’s hot breath run along his exposed skin.  
“Open your eyes.” Jacob commanded, and Roth did. He looked down, seeing Jacob on his knees looking back up, and watched him as he took his hard member in his mouth. Roth’s jaw fell with a whimpering snarl as he felt Jacob suck his cheeks in. He dropped his hands to his sides, pressing them flat against the wall, letting go of Jacob’s in the process. Roth moaned his name as he succumbed to the sheer sensation of Jacob bobbing his head up and down. Jacob moaned when heard Roth moan, sending slight vibrations down his throat as he picked up the pace which sent Roth wild.  
“Slower.” Roth gasped, groaning at the mounting pleasure drowning out his finer senses.  
Jacob drank in the sight of Roth squirming as he looked up through his eyelashes. He dragged his hands lazily to Roth’s back, digging his fingers in to push him forward and deeper into his hot mouth.  
“Jacob-my darl-uuhh!”Roth cried, leaning back against Jacob’s hands as dug into his back. He moaned mercifully when Jacob ran his tongue down the length of his cock, ducking his head back up swiftly to suck Roth between his lips with one longing gulp. Roth fisted his hand in Jacob’s hair, urging his mouth further onto his throbbing cock. The assassin concentrated and sucked slowly, using Roth’s urgency to torment him. “I’m going to come.” Roth cried out, making eye contact with Jacob as he bobbed his head lighter but faster. Reaching a peak as Roth’s muscles began to tremble, Jacob pulled away, tracing the fingers of one hand across Roth’s hipbones and stomach with feather-light touch.  
“Come hard for me.” Jacob purred, sucking just the tip for a moment before taking more of Roth in his mouth.  
“Don’t stop-” Roth bit off his words when Jacob hummed in reply, groaning at the sensation. “I’m so close-ahh-” He moaned, panting, his voice strained trying to sedate his will to come in Jacob’s mouth straight away. “-Jac-uh-uuhh!” Roth came hard in Jacob’s mouth, making Jacob cough reactively. He struggled to maintain steady breathing as he leant his weight back against the wall, watching swallow and lick his lips as he stood up.  
The gantry catwalk shook slightly as he stood up, supporting his weight on the wooden beams. Jacob was transfixed as he watched Roth catch his breath, half-naked and His chest heaved, catching the light as though it was carved from marble, pale and decorated with cuts like the lines running through it. Roth was a fighter, his body showed that, and Jacob was attracted to that in him; the fierceness that cut his teeth when he smiled.  
Jacob sat back down on the catwalk to tighten his boots, he let Roth redress with the expectation of an audience. Roth’s shoes clicked on the wood as he walked towards Jacob, who had finished tightening his boots, he noticed them stop in front of him. He looked up with curious eyes as he went to stand up but was halted by Roth’s hand on his chin, angling his head upwards, letting him plant a soft kiss on Jacob’s cheek.  
“I wish there was room on the roof.” Roth whispered into Jacob’s ear as he offered his hand out to help him up. He let Jacob climb down the ladder first, walking behind him with his hand on resting on the small of Jacob’s back, resisting the temptation to return the favour but they were both busy men. Roth was busy trying live while Jacob was doing all he could not to get himself killed being the good guy.  
-  
With two days left, Roth indulged his pleasures to their height. He became aware, in quiet moments as he concentrated on Jacob’s chest rising and falling, that he had to, now, because this was all the time they had.  
They lay on a bed on the floor of the stage, their feet tangled together in a blanket but their bodies exposed to the warmth and lights of the theatre. The stage was set for the show upcoming, Jacob noticed that it was using the bed from that dressing room backstage.  
Jacob felt Roth wrap his arms around his waist, pulling Jacob towards him. Roth’s mouth curled upwards as Jacob lay flat on his back, letting the older man lay on his side looking over the assassin.  
“Round two?” Jacob asked, cocking a smile, the sweat on his skin glistening dully in the muted stage lights.  
“If I had the time, my darling, I'd fuck you ‘till you choked saying my name. Until your throat was hoarse from crying, and until you could see the sun touch the ceiling. I'd lie back and drown in the thrill of the sweet feeling of you inside me, but I've no time today.” Roth didn't care that he was exposing his weakness to Jacob, he felt safe in his hands.  
Jacob was turned on by Roth’s musings as he watched his lips shape the words ‘darling’ and ‘fuck’. He felt calm next to Roth, comfortable even. He let Roth’s answer be enough as he combed his hand down Roth’s neck and Roth ran his hand through Jacob’s hair.  
“Can you hear that?” A sound caught the assassin’s attention.  
“What?”  
“Those birds. It must be early.”  
“I'm used to them.”  
“I'll catch you one and you can keep it. My gift to you: taming animals.” Jacob let out a lighthearted laugh.  
“If I caught a bird I wouldn’t know what to do with it, honestly.”  
“But you have a crow.”  
“I own a crow. It’s different. I could snap his neck any second. You misunderstand me, my dear. What I’m trying to say is-” Roth stumbled around his words. “-if I were to catch you I wouldn’t know what to do with you. I can’t own you and cage you like I can my crow. That’s why we just play games, I think. We just fool around with each other to rattle the cage but not have to deal with the consequences. We’re strange bedfellows playing dangerous games.” He took Jacob’s hand from over his chest and wound their fingers together. “We don’t mean it.”  
“I don’t know what I want, Max. I just know that I want you.”  
“Mr Frye, don’t embarrass yourself. We were just having fun.”  
“No-”  
“-don’t apologise. Apologise for nothing. Everybody is weak-” There was a weakness in Roth’s eyes that told of his fear of losing something.  
“Roth. I want you.” Jacob didn’t plead but he let his voice betray the strength in his declaration. Roth didn't dismiss him but he looked solemnly at Jacob with a sadness in his eyes that he couldn't put to words. If he'd tried it would have sounded something like ‘I'm a selfish bastard. And it's come to this. You break my heart, Jacob Frye’.  
“This doesn’t change things between us, my dear.” Roth tipped Jacob’s chin up with his fingers. “We’re even. Your compass is still pointed south, I’m just further south.” He pressed his lips to Jacob’s neck effortlessly. “Maybe you’ll find your way back to me some day, but that’s not today. But, my darling boy: what a ride!” Roth shifted his body so that he sat up against the back of the bed. His slipped his hand up to Jacob’s cheek, brushing his thumb under his eye. He smiled slightly but didn't mean it. “Go on, get dressed, get out of here. You've got work to do, I'm sure. Cats up trees in need of rescue.” He joked, but a fierceness had returned to his voice that he’d lost with Jacob of late.  
“Cats up trees can wait, Max-”  
“-you do what you have to do and then think about coming back.” He pushed him out f the bed with his feet, watching as he searched for his clothes strewn about the stage and got dressed. Jacob approached the bed when he had dressed, carrying his shoes. “Put on your shoes. You've got some running up buildings to do.  
As he walked away, his chest feeling heavy under the weight of confusion and guilt, Jacob heard Roth call after him.  
“Jacob!” He spoke like he had forgotten something, but something contrived so as to get the last word. “I've a gift for you. I think you'll like it”  
“I don't like surprises.”  
“Surprise is the spice of life! Call it a Valentine.”  
“It's November.”  
“Call it a leaving gift, then. I feel that our dealings are at an end. I'll send it you.” Jacob politely assumed that Roth needed his space, as Jacob did too at times and left without trouble. But, as he walked away from Roth on the stage, in silence; stripped to the waist, naked and shameless, the silence sank them both into the pits of their stomach.  
-  
The sixth day of the week came, to which Jacob was still blissfully unaware. Roth hadn’t said anything to Jacob outright, and he didn't talk in his sleep for Jacob to have heard and asked questions.  
Evie was sat cross-legged in front of the fire, examining a map of London at her feet with a lamp. She folded it up as she stood up, walking to the desk in the corner upon which lay a pile of books, a knife, an empty glass and a large wooden box with a letter on the top.  
“Something was left here for you, on the doorstep. I brought it in for you.”  
“Thanks.”He picked it up to test the weight, unable to work out much about its appearance in the relative darkness, before turning to Evie. “Any luck?”  
“None,but I haven't had much time to look.”  
“I'll ask Henry what's been preoccupying you.” He smiled in a passive aggressive manner.  
“Very funny, Jacob.” She turned to look at her younger brother, younger by twelve minutes, and cocked a smile at him. “I think it's from your new business partner, it looks important.” Intrigued, he opened the box after examining it carefully for irregularities and took out a black birdcage from inside it. Confused about its significance, he opened the letter and read it to himself: ‘Corvus the Trickster. For one night only. The last performance by this sly devil.’ Jacob dropped the cage and ran to the door, flying down the stairs and out the front door.  
He ran the distance to the Alhambra, frightened by the mystery of Roth’s gift. He was certain that Roth’s empty birdcage spelled harm, as he tried to work out where Roth’s beloved crow could be.  
They always knew that one would kill the other. Destruction came with their territory and they were just collateral damage. Self destruction wasn't in their nature but when faced with a pressuring force, an equal and opposing force was created. It was all fun and games, setting fire to their lives, until they breathed in the smoke.  
The smoke curled up into the clear night, it caught Jacob’s eye. The accompanying flames licked along the lines of the smoke. He ran upstairs and climbed out onto the roof, searching out where the smoke was coming from. He chased it down, watching the smoke billow into the sky and the flames grow. He found the fire, raging, and his heart sank in his chest. A voice called him, sounding almost proud.  
“This was my one.” Roth’s eyes glowed against the fire. “I wanted to get your attention.” His ruthless smile seemed more genuine in this half light. The smell of burning wood filled his nostrils, hanging in the air as the Alhambra caught gradually.  
“Roth.” He said the name with sadness, approaching him as he simply stood in front of Paradise burning. “Roth!” He shouted now, growing angry and agitated that Roth would do this. “We’re not playing games any more, Roth. Are we?”  
“I thought that killing him would be bad for business, so I didn’t. But then, I played a game in my head, of cat and mouse and look who got caught.” Roth splayed his palms, spreading his fingers apart as though he was washing his hands of this, accepting that it was always going to happen. “He won’t be happy until he’s razed this city to the ground, and we’re left swimming in the filth he’s brought down upon us. And I’m supposed to lay down and die? No. I’ll drown the tosser. I’ll pull him down myself and anchor him to the hands on that fucking clock. I’m not letting him do this to me, to what I’ve built! Not like this, not my life.”  
“Roth-”  
“But I’ve got no more time. All I’ve got left I’ve borrowed from Lewis. Jacob-” He stopped. “Jacob. This is my last night. Tomorrow, it's the seventh day of the week and Starrick gave me the week. He's good to his word. I've got one last night: make it yours.” Roth sincerity intimidated Jacob suddenly, knowing that he meant this. He paused to think, his head began to hurt as he tried to make sense of everything Maxwell was telling him.  
“You're throwing this on me a little, Max.” Jacob edged in, trying for time to work things out for himself and think about what he might do.  
“Oh, throw me to the wolves, then, Jacob!” He shouted, incensed and passionate. He stopped moving and took in the assassin for a moment, the beauty that he was, and Roth’s voice fell flat. “This is all for you.”  
“What for!” Jacob cried, confused and angry at the older man.  
“Because we are strange bedfellows who play dangerous games and I fell in love with you a little. I fell for you, and I think you’re falling for me and you don’t know what to do with that fact.” Roth walked up to him to address him, touching his wrist and then the scar on his eyebrow. “Starrick knows what I’ve done. So, this is me.” He wasn’t afraid of running out of time, he was a gambling man, he knew the risks he was taking when he went into this. It was the fear of losing Jacob that caused him to do this: the fear of disappearing into the dark without anyone knowing. “That’s the thing about dirty dealings, when you get caught your empire falls down around you. Starrick’s seeing to that.” Roth danced around Jacob suddenly, wrapping his arms around Jacob’s chest and waist from behind. “I might be dragging you down, darling, but you knew I would. Don’t say this came as a surprise.”  
“Why, though, Roth? Why do this?!” He leaned into Roth’s neck as Roth let him go.  
“Why, love?” Roth blinked, stepping apart from Jacob. His eyes were wide with fear and excitement, his mouth twisted into an honest grin. His hands met Jacob’s, one gripping the wrist raised against him wielding the hidden blade, the other wrapping around the hand at his own throat. The fingers of his hand that held back the assassin’s one at his throat dug between Jacob’s fingers, trying to intertwine them. “Why not?” Jacob ceased and put him down, dropping his arm from Roth’s throat. He warmed to Jacob’s touch as a fire in a wasteland, taking all he could before he couldn’t anymore. “You think I want this? This end, me: chewed up and spat out and my neck broken? I don’t want that.” Jacob stumbled with his words, trying not to touch him.  
“And you think I want this, Roth? Do you think I want to-?”  
“No harm, no foul, no quarter. Nothing done under duress.” He muttered, reaching his hand out to Jacob. He looked down at Roth’s open upturned palm and placed his hand into it, watching Roth move. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to, I’d just like one last dance.” He brought Jacob’s hand up and bent his hand back, triggering the hidden blade up his sleeve, then guiding the knife to his throat. “A little fun with the bravest man in London.” He looked Jacob in the eye as he spoke again. “If you don’t, I’ll wait for Starrick and the inevitable. Curtains.” If Roth was anything, he wasn’t a coward. “I just thought you’d like the collar. If I can give you anything, I can give you that.”  
Jacob was quiet, taking it all in. He was confused, searching Roth’s eyes for answers that he already had. He grabbed Roth by the arm and pulled him into the nearest alley, away from the smoke as best as they could be. With Roth’s guidance, Jacob placed his hand to Roth’s neck as it had been a minute before; the blade beneath his wrist teasing open the skin at Roth’s throat.  
Saying nothing, they kissed. Strange that it was their first kiss that meant something, as Roth died, pulling Jacob into to him like all angry and desperate lovers do. Somehow they'd never found the time to be what they were: angry, desperate lovers. They were always too busy playing with their food to commit to the feeling that brought them together. It wasn’t an apology, because Roth apologised for nothing. This kiss was a love letter; a bitter acceptance that it was ending, a goodbye that had no words, a final, desperate attempt at feeling fucking something to remind Roth that it wasn’t all worthless. His caged bird was free of its cage as Jacob knocked Roth’s hand away from his in shock, feeling all the more vulnerable for Roth’s passion at this moment.  
Jacob sliced his throat in turmoil, pulling away from the kiss with dispassionate lips and betrayed eyes. He looked down at Roth as his body fell back against the wall, his eyes wide and catching the light of the flames. He instinctively placed his hands behind Roth’s head and lower back, guiding him to the ground as he had done when they’d waltzed.  
He was half surprised Roth’s blood wasn’t black.  
It was only really as Roth was bleeding out at Jacob’s feet did it mean something. He felt weak for a moment as Roth had tried to cling onto the last thing he had loved and Jacob had seen nothing but danger in the man. He couldn’t hide from it as it stained his shoes and his hands and his mouth. Roth had pushed him until he’d snapped: a bittersweet last dance on the seventh night of the week. Jacob had killed his lover in cold blood, a Valentine in November that chased him home as he ran.  
He tore through his front door and ran up the stairs to his room as quietly as he could, needing the confinement of his room to keep him alone. His clothes smelled of smoke as he ripped them off, peeling the ones that stuck. Jacob washed his hands desperately, splashing water on his face when he’d finished. He pushed his hand against his chest, listening for the snap that told him to stop that he was sure could have been his heart if he’d concentrated. His dislocated finger was fixed with the push. Looking at himself in the mirror, Jacob raised his fingers to his lips, unable to get rid of the smell of Roth’s blood, and touched them to his lower lip gently. He stared blankly at his face, looking for answers that he didn’t have, and just got into bed; leaving his empire around him: scattered clothes around his bed. He closed his eyes but couldn’t sleep.  
In the silence that settled over his room as he lay there, turned over facing the inside wall, with his eyes closed tightly; he heard the quiet, soft steps of feet as Evie closed his bedroom door behind him, letting him sleep.  
He couldn't say anything to her to tell her that he was grateful that she left him. She could smell blood on Jacob as he barged past her. She knew, even if he didn't, that sleep was all that could help him tonight.


	4. In the Woods Somewhere.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you love him?” 
> 
> “I slit his throat and he kissed me.”   
> “Don't say you’ve got regrets. You did it. What good are they now?”  
> “I just want know-“
> 
> “For better or for worse. We honour the dead. You don’t lay down and die beside him.”
> 
> He walked to Scotland Yard, taking in the life around him with dull eyes and considered brushes of his fingers  
> Without so much as even lifting a finger, he pushed Jacob over the edge;  
> “I told you I liked your red scarf.” Jacob replied; quickly and painlessly, like the pull of a plaster.
> 
> “It takes two to tango, Roth.” Jacob spoke across the table. “You're not all bad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's ending, alas. But, not quite! There's more: prequels are coming...
> 
> As always: comment and give me live, or complain and keep my on my toes.
> 
> Thank you xx
> 
> All my love

Jacob threw his head back and brought himself to climax with a deep, torn moan. Roth had ripped it from his throat as he described them fucking. He bucked his hips and came over his stomach breathlessly, tugging his blindfold down and letting it hang around his neck. He looked at Roth with tired amusement as Roth watched him suck the cum off his fingers to taste himself and taste Roth’s handiwork.

He got hard just watching him.

“You went a lot harder than I did.”

“I wouldn't say that, big boy.” Roth purred with a vicious smile.

“That's not what I meant; I meant, I look forward to your rougher side.”

-The side with his throat slit.-

Jacob crawled across to Roth on all fours and nipped his earlobe before straddling him. Roth leaned up and twisted his fingers around the blindfold hanging around the assassin’s throat, pulling his head down to his with it.

“It suits you.” He pressed an open kiss to Jacob’s temple. “But it would suit you better with nothing else on.” He let it go, grinning. Jacob let Roth undo his trousers and pull them down as he ducked his head down to Roth’s chest, running his tongue around his nipple before catching it in his lips. His skilled fingers undid the clasp and buttons on Roth’s trousers easily.

“I told you I liked your red scarf.”

-How ironic.- Jacob thought as he sat in Covent Garden alone. He still had bruises on his neck when Jacob killed him, but he suspected that he had killed Roth long before that when he gave him the bruises.

It was a cold, foggy morning. The streets were busy with life but Covent Garden was strangely quiet. Jacob sat on the damp grass in the stifling quiet of his guilt and let the cold seep into his bones.

-

The same morning, 9 hours after the event but an hour and a half before Jacob began daydreaming, Evie had knocked on Jacob’s door.

“Trouble in paradise?” She tried to soothe his ailed expression as she watched him stare out of the small window in his room, opening his door fully.

“I have something to tell you.” He said, looking sunken-eyed at his sister. His sharp wit had dulled in the night, the blade blunted on something beloved, he thought.

“I think I know.” She started, closing the door behind her. “You were covered in blood when you came through the door last night.” She approached his bed and sat on the floor at the side of it, looking up at him as he came to terms with what he was trying to say. “It’s Roth, isn’t it?

“It’s Roth, of course.” Jacob replied; quickly and painlessly, like the pull of a plaster. “I killed him.”

“I thought you’d gotten into a fight, but not that.” She was taken aback for a second but settled her shock as calmly and reassuringly as she could, for Jacob’s sake.

“He had it coming. He asked for it.” He tried to justify himself, to make himself feel better, or feel at all.

“He was a Templar, of course he did!” Evie tried to make Jacob feel better but had stimulated the wrong nerve in pursuing Roth’s allegiances so fervently.

“He wasn’t _just_ that, Evie. He was a man, and a lonely one. He was a bad man with good in him somewhere, buried, deep in the woods of his theatrics and his money and his friends in high places. He was just a man. Weak at the knees like all the rest.” He looked down at her as she sat and crawled off the bed to sit beside her, like they did when they were children. He was wearing some clothes, the ones he hadn’t discarded but was wrapped in the blanket from his bed to keep him warm. “And when he had nothing but the thought of giving me his head on a plate, he gave it. No charge. I collared the great Maxwell Roth, didn’t I? His body is for history now.” He turned to her, his breathing catching in his throat as he realised what he had done. ”But I’d collared him the second I met him, in all honesty. The rest was just fun and games.” Evie observed Jacob explaining his story and was quiet a moment before she spoke again, measuring her response.

“Did you love him?”

“I liked the way he made me feel. I wanted him. I wanted him to want me. I don’t know if I loved him.”

“He was obsessed with you, Jacob. Could you love that?”

“Could you? Roth’s not too different from Henry: he just had more of a flair for the dramatic. But he was dangerous, I know, I saw it. When I cut his throat open I saw it. He adored it, because the hand was mine that cut him open. I really don’t know.” He exhaled heavily, looking at Evie’s thoughtful eyes for comfort that they so rarely gave him. “So, yes, trouble in paradise, Evie.” She paused before she leaned closer to him and hugged him, wrapping her arms around his neck and back to keep him grounded in the second that would save him.

“I’m sorry, Jacob. Truly. I am.” She spoke into his hair, letting him go, then, and leaning back. “-but this isn’t you. You don’t lay down and die beside him:  ‘The great Maxwell Roth’. You bury him and you carry on. You get back up on your feet and you run to cut the heart out from the chest that got to him before you ever did. No matter what you say, you didn’t do this to him.” She offered her hand out as she stood up. Jacob took it, standing up as assuredly as he could. Her tone lightened, she tried to cheer him up by giving him the cold, hard facts of the situation. “It’s so like you to take the blame to get the glory. Jake. Well not this time, this was Starrick and you know it. The only bed Roth made was when he got in with Starrick and the Templars.” She considered her words as she let her last speech sink in. “No, I didn’t like him, but he loved you. For better or for worse. And we honour the dead. So you go and you at least pay your respects to him.” She shook the blanket on his shoulders.

“Evie-” Jacob started, slightly lost for words at the sanctity his sister had built for them in his room in the few minutes she had been there. “-thank you. I needed that.”

“Common sense? Yes.” She laughed lightly, encouraging a smile from her brother. “Now go. You’re cluttering up the place, I need to work.”

“Please. Like you ever work, you just look at maps and books all day.” He joked listlessly, smiling slowly.

“Next time you break into a bank and leave England’s financial system hanging in the balance, I’ll stick to my maps and books, shall I?” She opened the door for him. This spurred Jacob into ushering her out as he gathered his clothes, still draped in the blanket.

“I’m getting dressed, please leave.” He gestured out of the door. She obliged and left, smirking at him, knowing she’d won, closing the door gently behind her.

-

Jacob stood up as the seconds ticked past, he had been alone completely for two hours. He had collected his thoughts enough to go and seek out Abberline, hoping he would know something of Roth’s whereabouts.

He walked to Scotland Yard, taking in the life around him with dull eyes and considered brushes of his fingers.

“Jacob, I was hoping to find you, or for you to find me.” Freddy fumbled his words upon seeing the assassin, but he was glad nonetheless. “I have received something and I think you might be able to shed some light on it.” He seemed so badly suited to being tied down at a desk. Abberline fidgeted as he pulled a small wooden box out from a desk drawer. “I was sent this.” He explained and handed Jacob the box with a letter atop it.

“What is it?” Jacob asked, running his fingers along the etching on the wood, noticing the intricacy of it.

“Open it.”

Jacob opened the letter on top of the box first, placing the box on Abberline’s desk while he read. The letter was addressed for the attention of F. Abberline, Sergeant.  The writing read: _‘Dear Frederick, as I understand it we have never met, and will never meet. I’ve read about you in the papers. I send you this gift in hopes you will take care of it, as per my request that it be delivered to one Jacob Frye after you find my body. Certainly, I'll be killed soon, and that's a police matter, isn't it? My lasting and gracious thanks to you, Sergeant Abberline. Jacob trusts you, and now, so do I. Regards, M.R._ ’ He put the letter down, feeling his heart thump in his chest as it began to rise to his throat. He teased open the lid and found a note, folded in half, which read ‘A gift’ on the front. He opened and read it to himself, feeling sick as he recognised the handwriting, knowing deep down that this was some sort of cosmic joke. ‘ _Dearest Jacob, this is for you. A warning not to play with fire. Freedom was further south than I could run. Yours indefinitely, Maxwell Roth_.’ His hands trembled slightly as he took the note away with one hand, looking into the box again with knowing but agitated eyes. Beneath the note lay Roth’s pet crow: it's neck snapped, it's eyes open. Roth had sent him the birdcage as a warning, and his crow as a reminder, and almost an apology. He had separated the bird from the cage, freeing him from his prison, but freeing him in death. He knew his time was running out and chose to repair what he had left before he died, the bad, twisted, broken man that he was.

“It’s Roth.” Jacob stuttered, placing the note and letter quickly back in the box. He tried to collect himself, the cut still raw and fresh in his mind. He repeated himself, looking up at Abberline the second time. “It’s Roth. Maxwell Roth.”

“Oh-” Abberline looked puzzled for second before he caught up and put the pieces together for Jacob to interrupt him. “How strange-”

“What did you do with the body?” Jacob asked in a flat tone but out of curiosity.

“Do you want to do something with it?” Abberline’s questioning was gentle as he realised, needing to ask no further questions. It all made sense to him now.

“I just want to know.” Jacob replied, trying not to be defensive.

“Starrick’s men took it.” Abberline answered as best he could, trying for Jacob’s sake. “He has men on the payroll.”

“Thank you, Freddy. You're good to me.” The sergeant got up as Jacob turned to leave.

“I can't stop you from doing what you're going to do, as a friend. But as an officer of the law, I advise you don't get caught. It's dirty business, murder. Starrick’s a big fish in this small pond, his death wouldn't go unnoticed no matter how deserved.” Abberline tapped the box and put it back in his desk drawer. “He entertaining guests at dinner, I hear.” Jacob looked up at Abberline with admiration in his eyes.

“Freddie, you might be the last good man in London. Take care of yourself.” Jacob left Abberline’s office without a goodbye but with the implicit, earnest wish of care that bestowed on the man more than a goodbye ever could.

-

The shouts and screams of his associates fell upon him as he ate.

“I slit his throat and he kissed me.” Jacob declared to Starrick, standing in the doorway to his dining room, having cornered him when he was unawares. Jacob has disposed of his guests with skilful, motivated ease and had left himself just Starrick to talk to.

“Mr Frye.” Starrick looked up from his meal, a tremor in his eyes. “A candle has been extinguished in this city of light, as you well know.”

“Where's the body?“

“Don't say you’ve got regrets. You did it. What good are they now?”

“I just want know-“

“I threw it in the Thames.” His voice was flat, his eyes dead in their sockets as they looked Jacob up and down. Crawford Starrick was gaunt but powerful, for his strength lay in the hands of others. He was a superb puppetmaster, his worn fingers testified as much. “Describe it to me. I know you need the _release_. You got tangled up in some poisoned ivy, Jacob. _Roth was poison_.” Starrick pushed him without touching him. “Describe to me the torture of Maxwell Roth.” Starrick announced after pausing. Without so much as even lifting a finger, he pushed Jacob over the edge; a trait that both he and Roth shared.

“He lived.” Jacob was quiet for a moment, understanding Roth now better than he ever had when he was alive. There was no magic or mystery or tricks surrounding him now. “That was his torture. Unapologetic, and pushed under your _righteous_ heel. He was **caged**.”

“A touching eulogy for a criminal, but it takes one to know one I suppose.”  His calmness disturbed Jacob as he approached him.

“Grotesque! Deserved! Brief! Is that what you want me to say?” Jacob snapped and stormed towards the Templar, brutally stabbing his assassin blade into Starrick’s upper thigh with one swift arm movement, then pressing the blade to Starrick’s throat as he used his weight to keep Crawford still as began to collapse at the knees. “ **There**. Weak at the knees. Men always are.” Jacob had changed, feeling the pit of his stomach catch his heart. He became sure of one thing, certainly, unsure then of everything else but this: Crawford Starrick was a dead man walking.

Starrick bit Jacob’s throat and threw his body off him when Jacob’s yelled. “When the dust settles, Jacob, you'll realise it's nothing worse than what you did to Pearl.” Starrick dragged his body out

“I curse the day I ever laid eyes on you.” He muttered, grabbing Starrick by the leg. Jacob wasn’t at peace, exactly, but it could be said that he was at quiet with his heart. “But I curse him more for bringing me to your door.” Starrick pivoted his body on his other leg, clamping his hand into Jacob’s hair to pull him off before he lost his balance and Jacob had him.

“You’re going to die, Jacob Frye. Like Roth did. Like a dog on the street. Pitiful and asking for favours.”

“Not before you.” Jacob spat, lashing out of where Starrick held him, digging his fingers into the Templar’s wrist making him let go. Starrick swung out in pain and clipped the assassin across the head, knocking him out with the force and angle of the punch. Jacob’s eyes closed reactively and opened loosely before closing again as he looked at Starrick, his heart on fire in his chest. The Templar grandmaster stumbled away, leaving Jacob there in the mire of his now bloody dining room. He couldn’t kill him like he was, he needed to heal his wounds and bide his time.

-

It wasn’t until much later that Jacob was granted his chance to end the bitter, pitiful life of the brutal and poisonous Crawford Starrick. Revenge was served stone cold, as cold as Roth’s body when it was dredged from the Thames, and no harm, no foul, no quarter: Jacob stole Starrick life from his own hands.

In a tomb beneath Buckingham Palace, Evie caught his throat with her cane, slamming her boot into his knee until the bone cracked. Jacob, beside her, grasped Starrick’s wrist and twisted it behind his back, bringing his other elbow up to his neck. He had resisted but the twins had him pinned.

Stealing victory from the jaws of death, Jacob sunk his kukri into Starrick’s chest and then his hidden blade through Starrick’s throat. Watching blood spill out of his mouth as it gurgled in chest, clogging his airways as he tried to breathe, Jacob waited and watched patiently. He let him die in his arms as he had let Roth do. He felt compelled to kiss him as his mouth choked on the blood rising in his throat, but simply tightened the hand around Starrick’s throat instead, whispering into his ear as he did.

“This is what you did to me.”

-

A weight had been lifted from Jacob’s chest when he let Starrick die. He felt some of his heart come back to him in the sense of peace he felt around him. He had paid his respects to Roth, burying his crow in a corner of Covent Garden where he sat often.

But, as the  sun set, Jacob stood in the charred ruins of the Alhambra looking up at the London sky, staring through the burnt bones of the building as they became branches of leafless trees against the grey clouds; not so much a forest so much as a woods that he couldn’t see for the few trees. He looked for blackbirds as he stood there, quietly, remembering something Roth had said to him, months ago, over dinner.

 “Think about that. Something incredible. Something dirty and beautiful. A diamond in the rough. The bravest man in London, that's what the papers call you. You’ve got a pretty face but I know your much more complex than a charming rogue. If you were just that we’d have nothing to talk about, and you’d bore me. Besides, Jacob, my dear: I'm an actor, never think I can't tell a lie from a liar.”  Jacob smiled thinking of the callous, dangerous man that had stolen at least a piece of his heart. “You could be the last good man in London, and you’re messing with a man like me. It's strange.”

He closed his eyes and played out the rest as a scene in his head.

“It takes two to tango, Roth.” Jacob spoke across the table. “You're not all bad.”

“My parents named me Oberon, you know? King of the fairies. Cruel creatures without consideration of consequence. And it fits.” He stood up and walked to Jacob. “What you don't know about me won't hurt you, but I am a bad, bad man.” He brushed his gloved hand down the assassin’s forearm and picked up his hand by the fingers, bringing it to his lips to kiss it. “Just know that I might love you, if the mood takes me. And if not, you’re a pretty face and good, dangerous company. You’re the only good in me, Jacob Frye.”


End file.
